


Repetition

by missandrogyny



Series: if you ever come back [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, I honestly don't know what this is., It kinda ran away from me., M/M, Piningjolras, Supposedly a break-up/make-up fic but I don't think that's what this is, There is a break-up, i swear its my take on piningjolras, in a different way, it's probably not what you're expecting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 00:27:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/919831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missandrogyny/pseuds/missandrogyny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If you repeat something over and over again, it loses its meaning."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Repetition

**Author's Note:**

> Well. This kind of ran away from me.

The apartment is dark, silent and empty--- everything Enjolras isn't used to. It's imposing, terrifying, and the emptiness and loneliness of it presses against him, curling around his skin in a suffocating embrace. He refuses to feel it; refuses to be intimidated by darkness and shadow, when before there was light and happiness.

This is stupid. This is his home.

(This was his home.

He doesn't feel like it is, anymore.)

He toes his shoes off and flips on a switch; immediately, the room is bathed in light. It should be reassuring, but instead the light seems artificial, cold instead of warm.

(He ignores the shudder that passes through his spine and the loneliness pressing against his ribs.)

He finds his way to the bed, and curls in on himself. He tries desperately to sleep, but the loneliness inside his chest is spreading to parts of his body and he's cold, so cold that the heater in his flat does nothing to warm him up.

He buries himself further in his pillows and blankets, wishing for the warmth of another body next to him.

He dozes off, still hoping.

(In the morning, he pretends he didn't wish, pretends that last night didn't happen. He's fine, he's always fine, he's composed and he's moved on.

It's always like this now; days of composure and nights of misery.)

\---

_"Apollo," Grantaire says, from the doorway of their bedroom. "Come to bed."_

_"I will, just as soon as I'm done with this." Enjolras replies, his hands flying furiously across the keys, his brow furrowed against his bright laptop screen._

_"Enj, it's two in the morning. It's time to go to bed." Grantaire says. He moves to stand behind Enjolras and places his arms on Enjolras' shoulders. "You can continue this tomorrow."_

_Enjolras relaxes beneath Grantaire's arms, his hands going still. "Alright," he says. "You go first, I'll just save this."_

_Grantaire kisses him on the forehead, and goes back into the room._

_Enjolras continues working._

_He climbs into bed an hour later, and Grantaire is soundly asleep._

\---

He goes to work, he stays late, and he goes home, then crawls into bed. Repeat cycle.

He tries not to think about it; tries not to think about the loneliness bubbling inside him, threatening to spill out. He tries not to think of the coldness of his apartment and the shadows that live in the corners, chasing the slightest bit of warmth he gets. He's fine, he really is.

He's lived alone before. He's lived on coffee, ideals and nationalism before, he can do it again. Never mind that his chest often hurts from loneliness, never mind that every beat of his heart tells him to get Grantaire back. It's simply a case of mind over matter.

(His chest feels like it's made of glass, and every breath he takes feels like a phantom pain.)

\---

(His trick, his favorite trick is to repeat words over and over until they lose its meaning.

Enjolras is a wordsmith; his words can make mountains move. He has had to master this very language, master the tricks and turns of words. He has had to memorize connotation and denotation, find which words to use to make the most impact. To him, it's like mixing chemicals; choose the right chemicals to make an explosion.

He has had to break down language to its very core, to each stroke of the letters, to each sound produced, and build it up again until the words are stronger, make more sense. He finds that it's like a puzzle, a challenge, to find the words that fit until you are left with a sentence that flows and hits you right where it matters.

Right now, he chooses to break down the words until they no longer make sense.

Fine.

Fine.

Fine.

Fine.

He's fine, he's absolutely fine.

He can dominate language, he can make it submit to him. He's fine.

He chooses not to build it up again.

He's absolutely fine.)

\---

"You don't seem to be doing well," Combeferre observes, when they meet one weekend to get breakfast together. Combeferre is his oldest, closest friend, unafraid to speak the truth to him.

"I'm fine," Enjolras replies, on impulse. It's a word he no longer knows the meaning of.

"You don't look like it," Combeferre says, not unkindly. "Enjolras, if you ever need someone to talk to---"

"I'm fine, really." Enjolras says again, before Combeferre can tell him what he already knows. "I'm doing great, now can we talk about something else?"

Combeferre eyes him, but he doesn't push. He discusses politics and other bright ideas of some of their favorite philosophers and Enjolras finds himself enjoying, even if just for a moment. Here the words make sense; here the words have meaning, hidden in the corners of letters and the shape of the mouth.

His unspoken offer still hangs in the air, however Enjolras is content to ignore it.

\---

_"Apollo," Grantaire says, pulling at his arm. "Let's do something fun."_

_"Not now, Grantaire," Enjolras says, not even looking up at him, too focused on the pile of papers he's reading. "I'm busy."_

_"You're always busy," Grantaire complains. "I feel like I hardly get to see you anymore. And it's supposed to be your day off. Come on, it's almost dinner, let's go have dinner."_

_"You go, if you really want to," Enjolras says. "I'm staying here."_

_"You're missing the point, Enjolras," Grantaire says, frustration creeping into his voice._

_"I really have to finish this." Enjolras says stubbornly._

_Enjolras hears Grantaire sigh and feels him let go of his arm. He hears Grantaire storm into their bedroom._

_He emerges a few minutes later, phone in hand, dressed in jeans and a shirt. He puts on his shoes and jacket, then leaves the apartment, slamming the front door behind him._

\---

Courfeyrac barges into his apartment, one day.

"What are you doing here?" Enjolras asks, looking up from his desk.

"You're always working," Courfeyrac says, sprawling on his couch. "You're no fun."

"What are you doing here?" Enjolras repeats.

"Combeferre sent me, to make sure you don't work yourself to exhaustion." Courfeyrac says. "He's coming a bit later, so stop working."

"This is ridiculous," Enjolras says. He continues to read the papers until Courfeyrac threatens to rip them into shreds and flush them down the toilet. But even then, he continues to work on his phone.

Eventually, Courfeyrac gets him off his phone and on the couch, so when Combeferre arrives, Courfeyrac's head is on Enjolras' lap and Enjolras is playing with his curls. They're both watching Star Trek.

Combeferre raises an eyebrow, and goes to sit at the other end of the couch. He ends up with Courfeyrac's legs on his lap, but he doesn't complain, just sits and watches through the episodes.

They all fall asleep that way.

\---

(He's fine, he's absolutely fine, he's not hurting. He's moving on, he's doing well, he's alright.

He's fine.

Fine.)

\---

"Hey," his co-worker, Jacqueline, says. She's rather pretty, tall, with long dark hair, olive green eyes, and a smile that can light up the room.

"Hey," he says, not even looking up from his computer.

"I was wondering," she asks, and she leans forward, so that she's in his personal space. "Do you want to, maybe go out sometime?"

That causes him to look up, startled.

"What, you mean like a date?" He asks, just to clarify.

She frowns at him and nods.

(No, his heart says, pounding. She's not who you want. She's not the one you look for every night; not the one who can chase away the bone-cold loneliness that's heavy in your bones.)

"I'll....think about it," he says instead and continues working on his computer.

\---

_"Hey," Grantaire says, sliding in the seat across from him._

_"What do you want, Grantaire?" Enjolras asks, not looking up from his books. He's in the library, he has a paper due next week, and Grantaire being there is not doing wonders for his concentration._

_"Dunno," Grantaire shrugs. He props his chin up on his hands and watches Enjolras._

_Enjolras lets this go for about three seconds before he can contain himself. "What?" he hisses._

_Grantaire smirks. "Has anyone ever told you how pretty you look when you're working?"_

_Enjolras closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. He breathes deeply, trying not to let his temper flare up. He is in a library, and there should be silence in the library. Grantaire is just doing this to rile him up._

_When he opens his eyes, he sees Grantaire has stolen one of his books and is flicking through it idly._

_"What are you doing?" Enjolras asks, trying to steal his book back. He needs that for his paper, dammit._

_"Reading through your revolutionary bullshit books," Grantaire snorts. "Come on, Enjolras, you don't really believe this shit, do you?"_

_"They are not bullshit," Enjolras says, breathing deeply. He doesn't want to shout at Grantaire in the library. He doesn't. "And yes, this ideals are what I based my beliefs on, so yes I do believe all this."_

_"The inherent goodness of man? Please."_

_"Man is inherently good because we are characterized by reason and tolerance." Enjolras finds himself saying. "We can be reasoned with, can be taught to do the right thing. Now can I please have my book back?"_

_He tries to grab it, and this time Grantaire gives it to him willingly. He opens the book and begins to read, ignoring Grantaire who is still sat in front of him._

_"I know what I want," Grantaire says, a few minutes later._

_Enjolras exhales loudly. "What, Grantaire?"_

_"Go out with me." Grantaire says and Enjolras looks up, startled, and finds himself staring into piercing blue eyes. He finds he can't look away._

_"What?"_

_"You heard me."_

_"Like a date?" Enjolras asks, his eyes still staring into Grantaire's own._

_"If that's what you want," Grantaire says, his eyes flicking down before looking up again. "Let's get coffee. Right now."_

_"I can't," Enjolras says, huffing. His mind takes note that he's not saying no, not really, it's just that he can't right now. "Paper, remember?"_

_"Can I at least have your number then?"_

_Enjolras frowns. "Don't you have it?"_

_"I do."_

_"Then why are you asking for it?"_

_"I wanted to see if you would give it again." Grantaire smiles, and it does something funny to Enjolras' chest. His smile settles into his bones and ignites a fire, and his heart beats loudly in his ears._

_"Bye," Grantaire says. He stands up and makes his way out the library. "I'll text you," he calls to Enjolras when he's near the doors, which earns him a glare from the librarian._

_Enjolras feels something warm bubbling in his chest, something that feels strangely like a giggle. He pushes it down, and focuses on his paper. But before he can actually write a word, his phone is vibrating on the table._

u didn't really say no 2 my offer of a date _, his screen reads._

_Enjolras can't help it; his face breaks into a wide grin._

\---

In breaking down words, in dominating language, you have to repeat it over and over until it loses its meaning.

Fine.

Fine.

Fine.

See? Nothing.

Enjolras finds that his existence is the same thing. If he reads the same quotes over and over, it loses its meaning. If he attends the same classes again and again, it simply becomes a burden. If he makes the same mistakes over and over, he begins to stop calling it a mistake. If he simply wakes up

wakes up

wakes up

one day he'll forget why.

(He doesn't know why he wakes up, nowadays, in this cold apartment filled with demons and ghosts of the past.)

\---

Courfeyrac invites him to his birthday party.

Enjolras shows up, of course he does. Courfeyrac had required him to go, and even though Enjolras doesn't enjoy parties, he goes because Courfeyrac is one of his oldest friends.

Grantaire shows up as well.

Grantaire, beneath the lights of the club, looks happy. He's drunk, yes, his face flushed and his hair sticking to his forehead and he looks happy, so happy, happier than Enjolras ever made him. He's leaning against another man, who's laughing and whispering something in his ear.

Enjolras pretends not to notice when the man presses a soft kiss on his ear.

(He does, however, leave early. He ends up on his bed, curled in on himself.

Which is ridiculous because he's fine.

He's so very fine.)

\---

_"I love you," Enjolras whispers against Grantaire's shoulder blade. He feels the words wash over the both of them, and he wants to brand it on Grantaire's skin, lest he forget. He doesn't want Grantaire to forget._

_"Hm?" Grantaire answers sleepily. Enjolras presses a kiss on the junction between shoulder and neck, where he'd left a mark._

_"I just told you I loved you," Enjolras says, smiling._

_"Oh." Grantaire says. He seems to be falling asleep again._

_"Aren't you going to say it back?" Enjolras asks, amused._

_"Why would I tell you something you already know?" Grantaire replies. "Besides, I don't want it to lose its meaning."_

_"Will you tell me something, at least?" Enjolras asks._

_Grantaire thinks for a moment. "You are unparalleled," he says. He's smiling, Enjolras can hear the smile in his words. "You are beautiful, and you are to me what Achilles was to Patroclus."_

\---

(He doesn't want to remember this, he really doesn't. Remembering this makes his heart hurt and his chest clench painfully and loneliness settle in his bones, and he's fine, dammit, he's absolutely fine.)

\---

Repetition.

Wake up, go to work, go home, go to sleep. Over and over and over.

He feels as if he's stuck in a limbo, where he can do nothing except relive everyday again and again. There's nothing new, nothing that suggest that the day is going to be different. The day was fine, the day is fine, the day will be fine.

Fine, in his head is a broken word, a word overused and never understood; fine is a word that scratches the walls of his apartment and rakes its nails against the skin of his brain, leaving scars and marks that will never disappear. Fine is as rough as nails on a chalkboard, as gravel on the road.

He's strong, he's supposed to be strong, and he is. He's strong everywhere where Grantaire isn't concerned. He's marble, he's armor, and he's invincible.

Yet Grantaire lies beneath his skin, hitting him in places most vulnerable. When he thinks of this his breath shudders and his marble cracks and he's not invincible, not even close to it.

It shouldn't affect him like this. Humans evolve, they move on. And then they'll say they're fine.

(But maybe Enjolras doesn't want to be fine. Maybe he wants to be ecstatic, overjoyed, depressed, heartbroken.

Maybe he just wants to feel again.)

\---

Grantaire is asleep on Courfeyrac's couch.

Enjolras can't stop staring from Courfeyrac's doorway.

Grantaire looks peaceful, even with the dark circles underneath his eyes. His hair is longer since the last time Enjolras saw him, and he has a bit of stubble on his chin.

Courfeyrac shoots him an apologetic look, but Enjolras is too busy drinking in the sight of him, running his eyes over a body he's tasted every inch of.

(Once upon a time, a long time ago, before everything moved to fast. Back when their arguments were followed by kisses, and their kisses were followed by arguments.)

He does what he needs to at Courfeyrac's, trying not to think of the warm body he's craved for quite a while now. Afterwards, he quickly leaves the apartment, before Grantaire can draw him in again, before his willpower evaporates into the thin air.

\---

_"You," Grantaire whispers against his lips "are simply divine."_

_Enjolras can't help it, he laughs and pulls Grantaire even closer._

\---

Grantaire prevents repetition.

He's wild, reckless, impulsive; a mixture of many different unexpected things. He's a ticking time bomb, he makes everyday special. He can't sit still, is often found trying new things, and he never gets boring.

He makes every moment count.

\---

But maybe, just maybe Grantaire is a word as well.

Maybe Enjolras can break him down until he means nothing. Until his chest doesn't clench at the mention of his name; until he can breathe out the loneliness that seems to have settled in his bones.

Maybe if Enjolras repeats his name over and over, he'll lose meaning in his life. He'll just be another name in Enjolras' mind, another word broken down and not built up again.

Then, maybe, just maybe, he can forget and move on.

(He thinks it's futile. But he tries anyway.

Grantaire.)

\---

_Grantaire is laughing and covered in flour. Enjolras is, too._

_Grantaire's eyes sparkle beneath the light of their apartment, and his smile is wide and genuine. Enjolras feels warmth spread in his chest, and he can't help it, he takes out his phone and snaps a picture of Grantaire like this._

_"Hey, what," Grantaire says, startled. When he sees the phone in Enjolras' hand, he tries to take it. Enjolras keeps it out of his reach, and slips it into his pocket when Grantaire finally leaves it alone._

_"Why'd you do that?" Grantaire asks, a bit later, when they're cleaning the mess in the kitchen._

_Enjolras smiles. "You're cute."_

\---

(Grantaire.)

\---

_"Don't answer that," Grantaire pants, pulling Enjolras closer._

_Grantaire is sprawled beneath him, legs spread obscenely. He's naked, and so very beautiful that Enjolras could simply eat him up right now._

_Of course, at this moment, his phone is ringing loudly._

_"Don't answer that," Grantaire says again, his lips kiss-swollen. Enjolras wants to taste them again, to bite down and to make Grantaire moan._

_Instead, he extracts himself from Grantaire's tight grip, and reaches to the nighttable, where his phone is ringing._

_"Hello?" he says hoarsely. He clears his throat and tries again. "Hello?"_

_"Enjolras?" His boss's voice comes from the phone. "Are you busy?"_

_Enjolras looks at Grantaire, who has propped himself up the bed. Enjolras runs his eyes down Grantaire's chest to his abdomen, but stops himself._

_"Enjolras?" his boss asks._

_"No sir," Enjolras finds himself saying, "I'm not busy at all."_

_When he looks at Grantaire's face, Grantaire is smirking bitterly. His eyes, however, are devoid of emotion._

\---

(Grantaire.)

\---

_"Why the fuck would you do that?!" Enjolras finds himself shouting, when Grantaire stumbles in their apartment, drunk and covered in bruises. "Do you know how fucking worried I was when Bahorel called me---"_

_"Were you really?" Grantaire sneers, leaning heavily against the wall. His knuckles are bruised, and his eye is starting to swell._

_"Of course I was, Grantaire, why wouldn't I be?"_

_"You have a lot of work stuff going on," Grantaire says dismissively and slides down the wall he's leaning._

_"But that doesn't mean I don't make time for you," Enjolras says._

_Grantaire snorts derisively. "Yeah right," he mutters._

_Enjolras frowns and goes over to where Grantaire is sitting. He touches Grantaire's arm, and Grantaire flinches._

_"Come on," Enjolras says. "Let's get you cleaned up and into bed."_

_Grantaire mutters something under his breath, but lets Enjolras takes care of him._

_"I love you," Enjolras whispers fiercely into his hair, when they're both curled up in bed._

_Grantaire doesn't reply._

\---

(Grantaire.)

\---

_"JUST END THINGS WITH ME ALREADY!" Grantaire screams at him, in their living room. "I'm a drunkard, I'm unmotivated, and I'm lazy and a cynic. I just pull you down. Why won't you end things with me already?"_

_Enjolras didn't expect that their petty argument would devolve into this. Grantaire is breathing heavily in front of him, posture tensed, but his eyes are sad._

_"I love you," Enjolras says instead, and Grantaire mutters and locks himself in their bedroom._

\---

(Grantaire.)

\---

_"Hey, Apollo," Grantaire whispers in his ear from behind his chair. He presses kisses on Enjolras's jaw and down his neck._

_"What, Grantaire?" Enjolras asks. "I'm busy."_

_"I miss you," Grantaire's lips find their way up his ear again, his teeth grazing the earlobe. He presses a kiss on the nape of Enjolras' neck. Enjolras shudders._

_"Not now, Grantaire."_

_"Please?" Enjolras can feel Grantaire pout. "I want you."_

_"Not now, Grantaire. Next time, okay?"_

_Grantaire sighs, and the warmth of his body disappears._

\---

(Grantaire.)

\---

_"I love you," Enjolras says to Grantaire, one morning._

_"Do you really?" Grantaire asks._

_Enjolras frowns. "Of course I do."_

\---

(Grantaire.)

\---

_"You work too much," Grantaire complains, in their living room. "You use your days off to work."_

_"What do you want, Grantaire?" Enjolras asks. He's irritated, the papers he's reading have all the wrong information on them and he's currently engaged in an email exchange with the secretary._

_"I want to spend time with you."_

_"I can't right now, Grantaire, I'm busy."_

_"You're always busy. I hardly even see you anymore."_

_"I'm right here in front of you," Enjolras answers._

_"Barely."_

_Enjolras takes a deep breath, and turns to Grantaire. "Do you just want to bother me while I'm doing something important?"_

_"That's the thing," Grantaire answers sullenly. "You're always doing something important."_

_"What do you want me to do about it?" Enjolras asks irritatedly._

_"Take a break, take a day off. Spend some time with me."_

_"I can't."_

_Grantaire sighs. "You can't, or you won't?"_

_"Both."_

_"Then I don't think this is working." Grantaire says, seriously._

_"What isn't working?" Enjolras asks, already turning back to his computer._

_"Us."_

_That makes Enjolras freeze. "What?"_

_Enjolras turns around. Grantaire is staring straight at him. His eyes are blank, with absolutely no emotion showing. Enjolras doesn't know what his face is doing, but whatever is there makes Grantaire look away from him._

_"Is this all I'm going to get, Enjolras?" Grantaire asks. "Scraps of your attention, coming only second to your work?"_

_"Grantaire, if this is a game, I don't have time for this."_

_Grantaire looks up sharply, and his eyes are filled with so much hurt, before it disappears into a mask of bitterness and anger._

_"Is our relationship a game to you, Enjolras?"_

_Enjolras is left speechless. All his words are gone, disappeared in the blink of an eye. He tries grasping at straws._

_"I love you," Enjolras says._

_Grantaire laughs bitterly. "What does that even mean, Enjolras? I don't think it means the same to you as it does to me."_

_"I love you," Enjolras says again._

_"Explain it to me, Enjolras, what you mean by that, because I don't know anymore. You're a man of words, tell me, make me understand."_

_(He can't find his words.)_

_"I'm begging you, please." Grantaire says, and oh, his voice is broken, so very broken that it makes Enjolras' heart break._

_(Where are his words?)_

_"Enjolras?"_

_"You should go then," Enjolras finds himself saying mechanically. "If you're not happy, go. Go to a bar and drink yourself into oblivion."_

_Grantaire recoils as if he's been slapped, and he stands, angrily. He grabs his jacket from the hook, puts on his shoes._

_"By the way," he sneers by the door of their apartment. "Happy anniversary."_

_He slams the door behind him._

_Enjolras takes a deep breath and returns to his work. He reassures himself that Grantaire will come back._

_(Grantaire doesn't come back.)_

\---

(Gran

taire.)

\---

(It's his fault, he knows.

His fault.

His fault.

His fault.

His fault.

His fault.

His fault.

He's fine.)

\---

He sees Grantaire again after two years.

In those two years, the numbness has become a norm, the bone-cold loneliness has become a constant. The pain in his chest has mostly receded.

(Although he feels that this is because he's gotten used to it.)

He's at the Cafe, texting Combeferre when someone bumps into him.

"I'm so sorry, " the person says, and Enjolras looks up from his phone to see dark curls, piercing blue eyes, and a crooked smile. "I didn't see you there---"

"Grantaire."

The name breaks around his lips, but suddenly, the bone-cold loneliness is gone, replaced by a warmth he's missed. His chest feels lighter, all of a sudden, and it feels like he's breathing for the very first time.

With the name comes the meaning, the memories; those he'd tried to abolish two years ago and thought he had succeeded. It claws its way up his throat, every memory, as bright and vivid as the flowers during summer. The name brings with it a rush of air, the faint smell of paint and sunlight, and the sound of laughter.

"Enjolras?" Grantaire says, blinking, and oh, Enjolras' heart soars. He hears his name spoken the way he'd loved hearing it before, when Grantaire had just woken up on a particularly lazy day and Enjolras was still around. He can taste it in the air, the words, the syllables as they fly out of his mouth, and he can almost see the meaning behind it.

(Because in all honesty, Grantaire never said anything without meaning.)

"Hello," Enjolras smiles and his voice smiles as well, and his chest is bubbling with an unnamed feeling. It reminds him of the sunlight; it's the same feeling he had when used to play in the gardens in pre-school.

"Hello, Apollo." Grantaire smiles back at him. "How are you?"

"I'm..." Enjolras hesitates for a split second, his mouth almost moving to say the word 'fine', but he's not fine, not anymore, now that Grantaire's here in front of him.

"I'm great."

And Grantaire smiles wider and Enjolras is sure he knows what's going on inside Enjolras' head. His smile is just a bit too knowing, and Enjolras just wants to taste it on his tongue.

"Are you here with anyone?" Enjolras asks him, and Grantaire shakes his head.

"Do you want to maybe, get some lunch?" Grantaire asks. "Unless of course you're here with someone."

"I'm not," Enjolras says quickly, to reassure him. "Lunch....like a date?"

"If that's what you want," Grantaire answers, and yes, this is what Enjolras has wanted for the past two years. He wanted impulsive, reckless, Grantaire to pull him from his limbo.

"Are you free now?"

He's really not, he needs to meet Combeferre and go to work, like he does, everyday. He has a schedule he must adhere to, he must---

"I am, actually." Enjolras says, and Grantaire smiles even wider, and leads him out of the Cafe and into the street. The sunlight warms his skin, and he feels alive, more alive than he ever did two years ago. This is what he needed, a break from the cycle, a deviation from repetition.

Grantaire holds his hand. Enjolras squeezes it tighter.

(And maybe, just maybe, they can try again.)

**Author's Note:**

> I got a lot of inspiration from this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EILQTDBqhPA because this dude is amazing and the poem gives me chills. Title is from his poem as well.
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr! jehass.tumblr.com :)


End file.
